There were a few legs to my trip up to The West Coast Fishing Club (not to mention the sea legs I’d soon need.) I checked-in at Pacific Coastal Airlines, where staff had me instantly revved-up for my fishing trip, handing me my WCFC hat and water bottle, along with my fishing licence and salmon logbook.After a two-hour misty-mountain-hop over to Haida Gwaii, we arrived at what must be the most silent tarmac on the planet, Masset .
It is too early the next morning to declare the time. I am both waking up and walking down to the large docks as fishermen prepare our boats. The smell of cedar steeps through me, down to masses of barnacles clinging to the slippery aged wood under my feet. Eagles are above my head circling figure eights. I pay them my respect. Geared up, into the boat, and awestruck that I’m heading out with a skilled fishing guide into the thick morning fog of this ancient landscape, I have no idea what fishing I’m in for but from all the stories I’ve heard, there is a jumping thrill in my heart. There is no horizon to place my eyes on yet but sunlight fights through, slowly turning whispers and legends into sepia-filtered outlines of forest and water. We are gorillas in the midst of the first terrain, the primeval account of our existence, the temple without walls, the sea. Haida Gwaii.
The boat engine turns off and we wait, quietly being pulled along by the tides in the most remote area of Pacific Ocean I’ve ever seen. Fighting my nausea, I pay attention to the surroundings, as the guide points to a faint horizon and says, “Yup, that’s Alaska.”
Water lapping along the hull, the clouds above us are thunder-grey and the ocean darker. A humpback whale slides herself into our sight, about seven feet [2.13 metres] alongside the boat and everyone becomes electric. Then she’s gone. More waiting. My fears begin to swirl [or is that my protein shake?] and my brain starts in. Do I want to know fishing for real? What if it doesn’t love me back? Are there plenty of other fish in the sea? Or just one for me that I will either catch or lose forever? Will I not be strong enough? What if l am the only one who doesn’t get one?
“There! The line is going off!” Our guide yells, “You got one, you got one! Alexandra get over there and get ’er done!”
My boat-mates go bonkers, screaming with their gestures as I go for my fish. I grab the rod and just hold it; I’m simply trying to just hold it. I try to reel, but nope, I am not pulling that rod, the rod is pulling me! I am a tin can tied to the back of a monster truck. Adrenalin is pounding but I wait with total focus and sharpened senses. Quicker than the flicker of an eagle’s eye, a silver streak flashes out of the black water and disappears again. I was briefly face-to-face with my fish. He has shown himself. I have no idea where this is going.
“Whoa-whoa ... okay Alexandra, you gotta listen to me now. You are dealing with a BIG salmon here. Hold on real tight but let the line go. Just allow him to swim away.” Another silver slash through the water and Guide begins to laugh, “Ha-ha OK now Alexandra, looks like this guy is a really big Chinook and he’s coming to play. You gotta outsmart him. So you gotta let him go for a while and then he’ll get tired of running. And then you get him.”
I get it. Let’s do this! The fish leaps like a geyser out of the water and everyone gasps and I get pulled. I wrap my arm around that rod and I pull it back, right into my belly. [The advice to do sit-ups for this moment seems to be paying off.]
“Ali, this is a massive fish! I mean, you’ve got a frikkin’ hog on the end of your line! Alexandra, I’m serious. Listen to me. Do not give up. Do not surrender. |